


A Celebration of Two Jewels

by Bohemienne



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Birthday Fluff, Ferdibert Birthday Bash 2020, Gen, M/M, birthday angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:40:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23708524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bohemienne/pseuds/Bohemienne
Summary: Collecting brief vignettes of Hubert and Ferdinand to celebrate their birthdays in the Ferdibert Birthday 2020/Two Jewels Birthday 2020 celebration.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 15
Kudos: 138
Collections: Ferdibert Birthday Bash 2020





	1. A Selection of Birthdays

**Author's Note:**

> *scrabbling my way out of the grave of endless deadlines and work* I MISS MY BOYS
> 
> I'm going to try to have an ultra-brief vignette for every theme day but I really can't promise anything. BUT I WANT TO, OH DO I WANT TO.
> 
> Day 1 (April 17): Hubert's Birthday
> 
> **A Selection of Birthdays**

**_1170._ **

He lifts the knife from the box, well-weighted, polished so bright the moonlight seems to slither off of it.

_You’re ten years old now. It’s time for practice to end. Show me what you’ve learned._

Hubert looks at the dark manor, a void against the starry sky. The baron lurks inside. Is he drinking wine? Is he sleeping with another nobleman’s wife? Is he, even now, penning the blackmail letters Papa says he’s been sending to the cabinet members?

_It’s time to be a man._

Hubert slips the knife into his boot and makes his way to the rose trellis. He is a boy, a shadow, nothing at all.

_It’s time to be a Vestra._

* * *

**_1198._ **

The door to his office opens with barely a creak; stockinged feet pad across the carpet behind him, and part of him thinks: _Finally._

A shadow at his side, a whisper—and then a giggle. Wriggling, writing pink limbs bounding into his lap, beaming with a mouth of more gaps than teeth. Black pigtails and eyes like amber. “Did I sneak up on you, Papa?”

He pulls her close with arms that aren’t made for cuddling, but he tries, he tries anyway. “You’re the sneakiest little crow.”

She buries her face in his chest and he hopes he can’t feel how his heart thuds.

“Daddy said to tell you dinner’s ready. Annnnnd that you can open your presents now!”

And then she’s gone, bounding for the door, carrying his heart with her like a thief, a spy.

* * *

**_1180._ **

He stares at the box before him, tied with red satin, before looking up to her with a frown. “I’m not—”

“I know, I know. You don’t like celebrating your birthday.” She flicks her hand dismissively. “But as your liege—” a wry sparkle to violet eyes—“I will insist. Order it, if I have to.”

Finally, he tugs off the ribbon, and carefully folds it before setting it aside. When he removes the lid, he isn’t sure what he’s seeing at first—black and gold—but suddenly it clicks for him that it’s an Officer’s Academy uniform.

His fingers hover over the jacket before glancing up at his lady, mouth agape. “Does . . . does this mean . . .”

“It’s decided?” She nods. “There are still many details to work out as we’ve discussed. But . . . I can no longer sit by. I think it’s time.”

His chest burns with a feeling like champagne. Relief, excitement—but also the hard reality of just how much lies ahead to reach what they’ve discussed for years. Just how deep a path he’ll need to cut.

“We leave next week.”

* * *

**_1189._ **

“You need sleep, Hubert.”

His hand is cramped around the quill; but the series of maps stacked before him are still incomplete, there’s still so much to be done—

“Hubert. This is not the same sort of campaign. Working yourself ragged is not going to win it.”

He lets out a shuddering breath. There is too much to be done. Too much, too many, like poisonous vines slithering up from the earth to strangle them all, and he cannot fully explain, all he can do is try to hack away in relative secret—

His voice tinier now—“Hubert, please?”

But he has a mistake to correct. His side of the bed stays cold; the wrapped box at the foot of it, unopened.

* * *

**_1186._ **

Sunlight filtering through the tall hedges, the world golden and lush within the garden alcove. But his gaze is not on the elaborate tea setting or the bougainvillea spilling down the wall, or his thoughts on the bitter, enticing scent of fresh-brewed coffee in the air. All he sees is red and gold, haloed in afternoon light, and that smell that has its hooks forever in his heart, even if he can never say.

“I know you aren’t one for celebrating your birthday,” Ferdinand says, pouring out a cup of coffee. “But . . . I couldn’t bear to see you go uncelebrated . . . And don’t you dare tell me there’s too much work to do.”

His heart squeezes like a fist—overcome with fondness, disbelief, _relief_. And maybe it’s just the idea of having one good birthday, or their near success in the campaign, or just dumb foolish love—but he makes a decision right then.

“Ferdinand . . .” He sits down, smiling nervously. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to say to you.”

* * *

**_1227._ **

“Hubert, sit down.”

“I’m just tidying up—”

“Sit _down_.”

He does, but not without first kissing that bald patch on the back of Ferdinand’s head, the one he despised until Hubert began to dote on it so. Once he’s settled in the other wooden lawn chair, their arms fall side by side into the gap between, and their fingers lace together as easy as drawing breath. The garden of their manor buzzes and hums with fresh life; the rose trellis is covered in blooms in reds and oranges and pinks. He can still hear the echoes of four children running down the stone pathways, now long grown. He can still hear the echoes of his father’s words, placing the knife in his hands.

“How does it feel to be still?” Ferdinand asks.

_Terrifying. Dangerous. Disobedient. Weak._

He brings their joined hands to his mouth for a kiss. “Perfect.”


	2. A Chronological Selection of Gifts Given

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Day 2: Gifts**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Day 2: Gifts**

A chronological selection of gifts given to one Ferdinand von Aegir by one Hubert von Vestra from 1166 to 1181, abridged:

  * Rocks
  * A wooden training knife
  * A badly crushed bougainvillea from the palace garden wall
  * A promise (broken)
  * A wounded stare
  * Glowers, assorted
  * Several years’ silence
  * A shove in the ribs
  * Dismissive jabs
  * A deliberately crumpled assignment sheet for a missed class
  * One right hook
  * One attempted choking during a sparring session (failed)
  * One tersely worded apology note, written under duress with Seteth looking over his shoulder
  * One modestly outlined series of class lecture notes for a missed class
  * One thorough brushing for Marcus, never attributed
  * One begrudging compliment following the White Heron Cup
  * An offer to dance, misinterpreted
  * More lengthy silences
  * The briefest apologetic glance upon arrival at the new base camp



* * *

A chronological selection of gifts given to one Hubert von Vestra by one Ferdinand von Aegir from 1181-1187, abridged:

  * A wary glance
  * Stares unmet
  * A letter of resignation, never handed in
  * A few month’s reprieve
  * Requests for visitation with Duke Aegir never sent
  * A few months that became a year or two of his absence
  * Soft smile and bashful glance riding through the gates
  * Unnerving compliments
  * Coffee beans—after several failed attempts
  * A patient ear
  * Another cup
  * A gloved hand atop another
  * A shy withdrawal
  * A quick return
  * Kisses (several)
  * A warning cry from across the battlefield
  * Kisses (more)
  * Rather more Heal spells than strictly required
  * Dramatic removal from the battlefield
  * Bougainvilleas from the monastery garden wall (uncrushed)
  * Tender forehead touches
  * A promise (kept)



**Author's Note:**

> [@Bohemienne6](http://twitter.com/Bohemienne6)


End file.
